


Christmas From 3,600 km Away

by broadwaybound



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Parentlock, Sherlock Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:49:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9194141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broadwaybound/pseuds/broadwaybound
Summary: Sherlock is gone on a case over Christmas and John is left back at Baker Street to care for their one year old daughter. Neither one relishes being away from the other for the holiday. General Christmas fluff.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iwantthatcoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwantthatcoat/gifts).



> A small ficlet for iwantthatbelstaffanditsoccupant for Tumblr's Sherlock Secret Santa 2016. Sorry for posting so close to the deadline. I hope you like it! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the BBC Sherlock Holmes characters or those appearing in ACD canon. Unbeta'd.

Hey. JW

 

Hey. SH

 

I miss you. JW

 

I know. SH

 

When does your flight leave? JW

 

In an hour. SH

 

Still think you’re going to miss Christmas? JW

 

Unless Mycroft can control the weather now as well, yes. SH

 

Maybe he can do it with his umbrella. JW

 

That would be far too convenient. SH

 

He’s yet to appear on our doorstep with it like Mary Poppins. JW

 

How is Ottilie? SH

 

Misses her father. JW

I read her _The Night Before Christmas_ and she fell asleep before I could finish. You always do bedtime stories best anyway. JW

 

John, I thought we weren’t going to teach her to believe in a fat, magical man that breaks into one’s home to deliver presents. Those are the sort of men we catch. SH

 

Santa Clause is a perfectly reasonable thing to believe in when you’re a child! And she’s only a year old. JW

 

I never believed in Santa Clause. SH

 

Oh, really? And if I asked Mycroft that he’d tell me the same thing? JW

 

Shut up. SH

 

Right. JW

 

[delayed] We’re boarding now. SH

 

Let me know when you land. JW

I love you. JW

 

I love you too. SH

 

***

 

Sherlock had been gone for a week. It was the first case John hadn’t gone on with him. Sherlock had run out of favors to ask of Mycroft and in return for the last one, Mycroft needed Sherlock to do a bit of digging for him in Reykjavik. Nothing too dangerous, but it did require Sherlock’s special expertise. They had been unable to find someone to take care of Ottilie—Molly being out of the country to visit relatives for the holidays and Mrs. Hudson was planning to visit her sister—leaving no choice but for one of them to stay behind.

Sherlock Skyped John nearly every hour and it was driving him nuts. At Sainsbury’s, in line for the chip and pin machine, Christmas shopping with Ottilie, a late night pint with Greg (before Mrs. Hudson had left), even during his shift at the clinic while John had been with a patient. Half the time he thought Sherlock just missed him and was using his “help” as an excuse to call; not that he was able to provide much insight from 3,600 km away.

 

The final piece of the puzzle had been found just a day before Mycroft’s deadline. The case was time sensitive—which had been part of the decision for John to stay—and a cluster of major attacks by a terrorist cell planned for Christmas day throughout Europe had been blocked enough for Mycroft to be able to deal with the cleaning up from England.

Sherlock was on his way home when a major storm front hit Iceland and the rest of Scandinavia, so he had been grounded. For all his access to swift transportation, Mycroft had no influence over the weather. Christmas would have to wait. Having only been a couple months old a year before, this would be Ottilie’s first real Christmas and John was hard-pressed to make it perfect.

Sherlock had been worried a baby would force him into domesticity, something he staunchly refused even after marrying John two years prior to Ottilie’s birth. It changed him in a way, but not as starkly as he had imagined. They still did cases and were able to carry on as much as a newborn would let them and eventually things settled into a new normal. But John saw the difference in Sherlock from time to time; whenever he fell asleep on the sofa, Ottilie fast asleep on his chest, or the hushed fervor in his voice as he explained the different plants and animals to her in the park, always including their scientific names. They were a family, living in their own nappy filled, crime-solving bubble.

 

***

 

“Tillie, look at the lights!” John pointed out as he and Ottilie were on an evening walk along the South Bank. Everything was lit up for the holidays and a dusting of snow was all they needed to complete the magic.

Ottilie gave a small, happy squeak and pointed at the lights adorning the nearest tree. John laughed and pressed a kiss to her cheek as they continued on. “Your father is missing a truly beautiful night,” he murmured. “All he would need is a murder for today to be perfect.”

A small vibration in John’s pocket made him stop and he put Ottilie back in the pushchair.

 

Merry Christmas, John. SH

 

Merry Christmas, Sherlock. JW

 

Did Ottilie get everything she wanted? SH

 

And then some. Your parents absolutely spoiled her on gifts this year. Mycroft brought them by this morning. JW

 

Mm. I’m surprised he wasn’t already in the country. SH

 

He still had to finish the odds and ends of the case. JW

 

He’s getting slow. SH

 

John smirked down at his phone and shook his head. “Ottilie, look over here,” he said, catching the girl’s attention and snapping a quick picture to send to Sherlock.

 

Still stuck in Denmark? JW

 

Yes. I should be home tomorrow at the earliest. SH

 

We’ll have to celebrate Christmas again when you get back. JW

 

Do not delay on my account, John. SH

 

We’ll be waiting for you when you get home. JW

 

Till tomorrow then. SH

 

            John slipped the phone back in his pocket and looked down at Ottilie, fast asleep in the pushchair. The wind had begun to pick up and was softly nudging the stray curls slipping out from beneath her hat. John smiled and brushed the hair out of her eyes, tucking her blanket in around her. “Better head home before you catch a chill,” he mused, steering the pushchair towards Westminster Bridge and the Tube station home.

 

            “This is so much easier when I don’t have to carry both you and this bloody thing up the stairs,” John grunted, struggling to fold up the pushchair and safely hold Ottilie at the same time. “I can’t wait until your father gets home.”

No sooner had John made it up the first few steps than he heard a shuffling noise coming from 221B. No one else should have been in the building and John silently cursed for not bringing his Sig with him. At least the pushchair could be used as a temporary shield or projectile. Creeping quietly up the last few stairs, and pushing Ottilie closer against his chest, John heard something odd and stopped. Music. The sound of a violin softly drifted down the staircase and John’s face light up into a grin.

Sherlock was standing at the fireplace, his back to the door as his bow arm moved fluidly over the strings. He caught John’s gaze in the mirror and smiled. “It’s been running through my head since I was stuck in the Reykjavik airport. It’s for you and Ottilie. I needed my violin to fully flesh it out. Merry Christmas, John.”

John froze in the doorway, Ottilie in one arm and the forgotten pushchair in the other. Ottilie squealed happily and reached her arms out for Sherlock, causing John to laugh. “But… How?” he asked, slowly walking inside the flat and passing their daughter over. “You said you were stuck in Denmark.”

“A diversion, John,” Sherlock said softly, tickling Ottilie’s tummy and making her squeal even more. “I figured you would appreciate a Christmas surprise."

John’s brow furrowed while he tried to form a coherent sentence, but all he could manage was a quiet huff of amazement. “It’s the best Christmas present I’ve gotten in years,” he grinned as he reached up on his toes to press a kiss to Sherlock’s lips.


End file.
